


nosce te ipsum

by eloboosting



Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: Character Study, Intercrural Sex, M/M, incredibly frustrating sex, repetitive themes of sacrifice and angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 06:48:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7034290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eloboosting/pseuds/eloboosting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cheonju's career has always been about compromise and sacrifice. Still, he's not exactly pleased when Gyeonghwan joins LGD.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nosce te ipsum

**Author's Note:**

> Uhh...so this veered off into interesting territory. I was going for like, a really short drabble? And then this happened? idk, have some Acorn character study I guess~
> 
> For an, who asked for antagonistic Marin/Acorn tension and inspired this weird shit instead.
> 
> Heavily inspired by [this.](http://i.imgur.com/PkiDnir.gifv)

Cheonju is used to compromising for the greater good of his team.

It starts on GSG, in that one last vital game against CJ Entus, he’d bitten the bullet and taken over support from Gwanhyung. He became the token sacrifice in every teamfight, denying CJ any bounty gold—not even stealing a kill to reset his worth. They win, and Gwanhyung runs to him to lift him up into the air.

They’re an amateur PC Bang team and they’ve just won NLB. No, he wasn’t the one to play Olaf and singlehandedly destroy the other team, but that’s fine; the euphoria of victory is enough.

 

After that season, they say farewell to Jeonghyeon as he, Gwanhyung, and Jihoon find themselves with MVP living their dream: playing for a company with actual resources and infrastructure, surrounded by people just as dedicated and obsessed with the game as they are.

-

MVP Blue has always been a contender in the off-season, winning against teams thought impossible and showing impressive games considering their estimated skill cap. But when it comes to the tournaments that matter—they manage to find a way to fall flat on their faces every time. Cheonju understands that management wants to find a solution, and when they switch Eojin and Wonseok because Eojin and Inkyu won’t stop their pissing battles, he foolishly thinks that that would be all.

They introduce Yeongjin as a substitute top-laner, but Cheonju's not dumb enough to fall for that trap. He's twenty-four, an ancient in esports, and Yeongjin is some nineteen-year-old up and coming solo-queue star—he can read between the lines just fine.

He’s Rumble main—a carry top-laner at heart—but in the spring split of 2014, he throws himself head-first into the tank meta. He plays a superb Maokai and Renekton and Shyvana and Mundo, doesn’t complain about the lack of champion diversity, about how his gold is sacrificed, about how he’ll never be given a chance to truly carry because there’s no way in hell any jungler in their right mind will gank for top when it’s two boulders crashing into each other.

He plays impeccably; has perfect teleport plays and snags the highest KDA for top-laners, and Yeongjin stays a sub.

He has an OGN Championship under his belt, has solidified his position on the team—it’s the moment that makes all the sacrifice worth it.

-

Worlds is a clusterfuck of massive proportions. They finally collapse under the pressure of White, dipping out during the semifinals and left in the audience as they watch White win. The season ends and he and the rest of the team break off to China, where he winds up with Seungbin, looking forward to the cash-green pastures of China, except—

Hojong joins them.

Seungbin doesn’t quite understand his problem, pointing out that he’s being paid just as much to sit on the bench as he is to play. But Seungbin’s won Worlds—and with it the ultimate prestige and recognition in League—and seems content enough to relax a little after years of hard work, so he doesn’t quite understand the desperation Cheonju feels to _prove_ himself.

The only one who might understand his pain is Gwanhyung, two years older than even Cheonju, who struggles under the shadow, under the same _team_ , of Sehyeong, World Champion MVP and most celebrated support after Madlife. Cheonju’s frustrated—of _course_ he’s frustrated, he wants to play, to have the starting position for himself—but at least he still gets chances to walk on stage, to show off in front of a crowd of millions.

And it’s enough.

They win the summer split, rocket off to Worlds and crash just as fast and hard. Hojong leaves, and Cheonju is a little ashamed to admit it, but a part of him is pleased. The starter spot is his, and he might finally get the chance to have it for himself—

-

“Hi.” Cheonju looks up from his phone to face Gyeonghwan—World Champion MVP, self-proclaimed Rumble main, an original solo queue star scouted by SKT T1 for his mechanical outplays—who smiles awkwardly at him. He knows in his gut that this arrangement with Gyeonghwan will be nothing like the one with Hojong—there will be no substitution of players, no chance for him to fight for a starting position. He’s been reduced to an analyst, a substitute in name only, and it takes all he has to stop his frustration from boiling over.

He has never wanted anything as badly as he does right now to claw out Gyeonghwan’s eyes.

“Welcome,” he says dully. “I hope your flight went well.”

Gyeonghwan, for his own part, does look suitably guilty. He knows exactly what his presence means for Cheonju’s position on his team. “Jihoon told me a lot about you,” he offers. “I hope we can be friends.”

Cheonju tries not to laugh at the absurdity of the statement, managing a stiff smile. “Sure.”

-

LGD continue their free-falling collapse during the spring split, losing game after game in the most demoralizing series possible. They’re barely limping by this point, nothing close to the meteoric rise of the summer that had earned them international recognition.

It hits them all hard.

But Cheonju knows, even when he tries to ignore it, who it hits the worst.

He’s used to being the adult of the team, the older brother to all of his immature teammates. He’s used to carrying the brunt of responsibility, of sacrificing his own wants and needs for the kids he cares so much for.

Gyeonghwan is only a year younger than him, but he feels that same instinct bubbling up in him and he sighs as he carefully approaches Gyeonghwan’s chair.

“It’s not your fault,” he says, even as Gyeonghwan continues to stare at his dark monitor, exhaustion bleeding from his pores. “It takes time—”

“I can’t carry,” Gyeonghwan interrupts. He shakes his head and looks up at Cheonju with a desperation Cheonju recognizes—back when he was on MVP Blue, when he’d do anything, _anything_ to finally win.

He searches for something comforting to say, for the wise advice he always had ready for his little brothers on Samsung, to reassure Gyeonghwan that it’s a learning curve he just needs to master. But his mind whispers to him, “But I _could_ ,” and he just places a hand on Gyeonghwan’s shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he finally manages, and then repeats his useless, meaningless words, “It takes time.”

-

They let him play one game; he doesn't carry and they don't win.

That's the last time he sees the stage that split.

- 

It’s worse when they start winning—when they begin their miraculous run in the latter half of the splits toward the playoffs.

Gyeonghwan brightens with every victory, nearly glowing with success by the end of the split. And Cheonju knows he should feel proud, that his input into practices and picks and scrims is invaluable—but every win is another nail in the coffin of Cheonju’s player career with LGD.

They go out drinking after their last series against Snake, and Gyeonghwan snags his arm as he gets up to run to the bathroom.

“Thanks,” he says, and Cheonju wonders if his reluctance and resentment shows behind the plastic veneer of his usual smile.

When he comes back, Gyeonghwan has an arm slung around Chen Bo, laughing at some joke their interpreter is trying to accurately translate. He sits himself back next to Gwanhyung, who soundlessly slides him another shot of soju. He clinks glasses with the rest of them and shoots it back, letting the giddiness of alcohol mix with the bitter jealousy in his gut.

As the night continues on, he’s volunteered out to escort the more drunk ones (Seungbin, and only Seungbin) back to the house, and—he's so used to this responsibility by now and he accepts with resignation. More surprisingly, Gyeonghwan volunteers himself as well, and they both have an arm around Seungbin as they stumble to the street to find a taxi.

“You didn’t have to come with,” he says after they finally flag down a car, Seungbin’s head tucked snugly against Cheonju’s shoulder as he snores.

Gyeonghwan shrugs. “Yeah, I know.”

He sneaks a look at Gyeonghwan from the corner of his eye, a little confused by the non-answer, but then Gyeonghwan places a careful hand on his knee, and he thinks, _oh._

That’s how it is.

They haven’t gotten all that close during the split, aren’t really _friends_ , per se, but it’s not like that’s any reason not to fuck. Gyeonghwan’s handsome, with his high cheekbones and bright smile, but Cheonju feels like it’s only fair to give Gyeonghwan a heads up. “I don’t like you.”

Gyeonghwan laughs. “Me neither,” he replies easily. “Feeling you hover behind my back just reminds me of Sanghyeok and Jihoon.”

“At least Jihoon got to play,” he can’t help but say, more irritated than he’d admit at the smug smirk Gyeonghwan gives him in reply.

-

They drop Seungbin into his bed and tuck him to sleep like the baby he is before Gyeonghwan takes his hand and leads him to Cheonju and Gwanhyung’s shared room, like he instinctively just _expects_ to be in charge of this situation.

Cheonju wonders what it feels like to live a life where he could take things for granted, where things are laid at his feet like presents on Christmas. What is it like to have the power to _demand_ things, to never have to compromise or feel obligated to bury thoughts behind a steel wall of patience?

The door hasn’t even closed behind them when Gyeonghwan pulls at his shirt and slams him against one of the walls. He bites Gyeonghwan’s lip out of spite, worries it between his teeth, and Gyeonghwan startles at the rough treatment. Their heads knock together and Cheonju winces as he pulls back, letting his head fall against the wall.

Gyeonghwan takes a step toward him, reaches his hands down to Cheonju’s pants and undoes his belt. “You know,” he says casually, presses another step closer to wedge a leg between Cheonju’s. He palms Cheonju’s cock through his briefs, smiles again as Cheonju gasps and thrusts against his hand. “I always thought you were pretty.”

He drags Gyeonghwan in for another kiss, lets Gyeonghwan pulls his pants and briefs down and rub a thumb over the head of his cock. It’s easy to let himself fall into the motions, leans into the way Gyeonghwan jerks him off with quick, hard strokes, bites at the skin of Gyeonghwan’s neck as he pants into Cheonju’s ear.

“Getting close?” Gyeonghwan asks in a deep rumble that sends shivers down Cheonju’s spine. He feels Gyeonghwan tighten his grip with one hand while the other traces Cheonju’s balls.

He eventually comes into Gyeonghwan’s hands, slumps against the wall while Gyeonghwan wipes the mess on his briefs. He doesn’t have the energy to protest, and lets Gyeonghwan pull him close again for another kiss.

“Can I—” Gyeonghwan pulls down his own pants, slides his cock into the space between Cheonju’s legs. It’s not the best angle for it, just the tip of his cock managing to fit, and he eventually turns Cheonju around so he has his arms braced against the wall while Gyeonghwan fucks between his thighs.

There’s something degrading about the way he has to keep his legs closed tight for Gyeonghwan, the pleasure he feels as Gyeonghwan’s cock brushes against the sensitive underside of his own cock, the touch of Gyeonghwan’s come-wet fingers tight against his hips, keeping him upright even as his own legs feel like they could collapse at any moment. Even in this, he feels beneath Gyeonghwan, taken for granted and used like some faceless tool. 

Gyeonghwan comes between his thighs, and Cheonju can feel it drip down his legs as they both collapse against the wall. They stay like that for a few moments, with his cheek pressed up against the wall and Gyeonghwan heavy against his back until he finally feels stable enough to stand on his feet.

“I’m going to—” He waves at the mess of his legs, and Gyeonghwan at least has the dignity to look a little guilty.

“Sorry,” Gyeonghwan offers, although he doesn’t sound sorry in the least, more pleased and smug than anything.

When he gets back from his shower, Gyeonghwan’s gone and left their mess uncleaned, Cheonju's briefs and pants an unflattering pile on the ground. He can hear the other shower running from behind the walls, and he shrugs. It’s not like he expected anything more from this fling.

 

The next morning, he boots up his computer like always and spends a few hours grinding the ladder alongside the rest of his team. Right before noon, they have their first team meeting, and Cheonju sits through an hour of discussion about hypothetical games he won't be a part of. It's nothing he hasn't become used to; he's spent the whole split in the shadows, channeling all of his effort into LGD's success behind the scenes, but today feels more sour than usual. 

He walks up to Gwanhyung after the meeting. "For the playoffs, for this summer—"

Gwanhyung sighs and lowers his eyes. "No, I'm sorry," he says. "Gyeonghwan is—he's a World Champion MVP. Even if he were to massively underperform, he's popular."

It's the resignation in his friend, the utter  _finality_ in his tone that catches Cheonju. Gwanhyung's been through this scenario before; wanting to continue as a player but being forced into retirement in the end—too old, not famous enough, none of the flashiness that excites the Chinese audience.

Cheonju's used to compromising, used to sacrifice—

 

That morning, he starts looking for opportunities on other teams.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is latin for know thyself, a maxim I just happened to name this word doc. (aka I'm too lazy to find a song lyric that matches/come up with anything clever.)
> 
> fuck my life, I just realized I wrote ANOTHER pairing. My mind really refuses to repeat anything.


End file.
